


Nobody Told You When to Run

by Sena



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Remix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-17
Updated: 2010-11-17
Packaged: 2017-10-13 06:06:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/133813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sena/pseuds/Sena
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean's never done anything anyone will remember him for, and for the first time, he kind of wishes he had.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nobody Told You When to Run

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Now's a Bad a Time as Any](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/1887) by Kashmir1. 



The thing is, Dean's never really done anything. Not anything important. He's never done anything that anyone will ever remember him for, so when he's gone, he's really going to be gone. Nobody's ever going to put up a statue or a plaque in his honor or write a book about him. In a few years, no one will ever remember that Dean Winchester even existed.

Sam will remember him, of course, unless Dean can figure out a way for him not to. He doesn't really want to fuck with Sam's memory but he thinks about it sometimes, wonders if it's even possible, wonders if somehow he could find a way to erase all the bad shit from Sam's past and give him a future. He wonders if Bobby knows a way, if Sam could just wake up one day with no memory of Dean or hunting or any of it. Bobby could probably take care of it. Dean will ask him soon.

He doesn't want to die. He's pretty sure suffering eternally in hell is going to suck, but mostly he doesn't want to leave Sam alone. He's not sure how he's going to do it, but he's got to get Sam settled before the hell hounds come for him. He has to make sure Sam's going to be all right.

Dean's never done anything anyone will remember him for, and for the first time, he kind of wishes he had. He's standing at the base of this crazy hill in Pennsylvania, something like a seventy percent grade, and it's got a _railroad_ on it. The guy who made it, Dean's pretty sure people remember his name.

He tilts his head as he watches it, two tracks side by side, one car rising while the other descends. It's counterbalanced, obviously, but he wonders how else it works.

"Dean," Sam says, bumping his shoulder, and then it's all, _library_ and _research_ and _blah, blah, blah._ Whatever. The ghost of some coal miner is suffocating hikers on the trail near the Inclined Plane. Dean doesn't even care anymore. Every case is the same, it's just the details that change.

There's a picture of the guy who made the crazy mountain railroad--the Inclined Plane--up in the library. His name was Samuel Diescher and he looked a little bit like Captain Picard. There are some cool railroad dioramas and a total MILF working the desk on the second floor, so the library's not as bad as usual. He eventually wanders into the stacks and reads romance novels looking for the dirty parts. He doesn't find anything good except a copy of that Stephen King book about the clown. He flips through it and tries to figure out what parts of it he should recreate next time he wants to scare the shit out of Sam.

Finally Sam finishes up his research, which means they can get food. Dean's starving. He never paid that much attention to his appetite before but now he kind of wishes he had. He wonders if he's always been so hungry or if it's just now that he's a dying man.

The week before he dies, he's going to get a room at one of those really fancy hotels--the penthouse suite. He's going to get a hooker--maybe two or three. He'll fuck her in the shower and on every available surface. He's going to order lobster and steak for every meal, lick champagne off the hooker's breasts, and when the hell hounds start coming, he's going to get into his car and drive. He knows he can't outrun them, but when he goes, he wants to be in his baby, music cranked, nothing in front of him but the open road.

They dig up the graves of the miners that night. The ground's soft enough to make digging easy, not so soft that it collapses into the hole. They dig in silence and Dean's mind wanders like it always does. There's not much to think about when you're digging six feet into the earth.

"Hey, Sam," he says, straightening up and leaning on his shovel. "You gonna put up a tombstone for me?"

"What?" Sam asks.

"When I'm gone. You gonna put up a tombstone?" Because he wouldn't mind. Sam'll have to salt and burn his body, of course, but a slab of marble with his name on it wouldn't be terrible. Maybe something on it besides _Dean Winchester 1979-2008_ \-- protective sigils or _got lots of ass_ or something. He'll have to think about it.

"Fuck you," says Sam and starts digging again. They don't say anything until they're back in the motel room and Sam snakes the first shower. Figures.

Sam doesn't want to admit that Dean's going to die. And it's not like Dean's looking forward to it or anything, but he knows it's going to happen. He knew what he was getting into when he made the deal.

Maybe if he can get Sam settled, first, he'll handle it better. Palo Alto and San Francisco both hold painful memories for Sam, but Dean's seen him there. He belongs there in the soft light and salt-scented breeze. As much as it's hurt him, Sam's happy in California.

When it's Dean's turn in the shower, he can smell the tang of come. It's a good thing, really, to know that Sam jerks off. Sometimes Dean worries about him. He's had sex exactly one time in two years. That's just wrong, even if the first year was spent mourning Jess.

Of course, the whole thing with Madison had ended up pretty fucked, too. The only two women Dean knows Sam's slept with are dead, and one of them Sam had killed himself. That's not healthy. He really needs to call Bobby about that memory thing.

It feels amazing to get all the fucking graveyard dirt off of him. Dean always thought that maybe one day he'd settle down. Not to have a family, really, but just to have somewhere to go. Somewhere that was home. He's never really had that and he always thought it wouldn't be so bad. Not if he could have a sauna or a steam shower or something. Not if he always had great water pressure and a hot water heater the size of a tank. It wouldn't have been so bad if Sam had been there. It could have been their base of operations or something. It could have been kind of nice.

There are a million things Dean's never going to have. He towels off his hair and tries not to think about any of them. He flops down on his bed and picks up the remote, thumbs through the channels.

"Found a hunt," he tells Sam, who's crouched over the table looking at land surveys of the mine. There are at least a few more bodies that were never recovered from the cave-in and if it's one of those spirits doing the suffocating, the gravedigging and salt-and-burn they'd done that night wouldn't help much. They're going to have to find the collapsed mine and burn the bodies still inside it.

"Hmm?" Sam asks, looking up at him. He's tired, dark circles under his eyes.

"We going for a hike later? Try to find the mine?"

Sam nods and stretches, yawns so big his jaw pops. "Figure we can get some stuff at the Wal-Mart, hiking boots or whatever." He flips off the lights and climbs into bed.

There's nothing good on TV.

"Found a hunt," Dean says again, hitting the mute button. "In California."

Sam doesn't say anything but Dean doesn't have to look over to know what the expression on Sam's face is going to be.

"Sammy, I'm not going to be around forever--"

"Bobby and I are working on it, Dean," Sam says. His voice is choked.

"I want to make sure you're settled before I die," Dean tells him. "You're happier in California than I've ever seen you anywhere else and--"

"Goddamnit Dean," Sam growls, jumping to his feet. He's looming over Dean's bed, so angry his hands are shaking. "If you mention fucking California to me one more fucking time--"

"I don't want you to hunt when I'm gone. I want you safe and--"

Sam lunges forward, grabs Dean by the arms. "Shut the fuck up, Dean. Shut up, shut up, shut up." His hands are strong, his fingers digging bruises into Dean's triceps. "Shut the fuck up or I swear to Christ--"

"What?" Dean demands. "You'll _what_?" He's about to sneer, _You gonna kill me if I don't?_ when his entire world is changed, suddenly and completely. Sam's mouth is over his, kissing him, and it's so very right.

Sam's mouth is on his and Sam's arms are around him and its frantic and rough. Their teeth clash together but Dean doesn't even care, just bites at Sam's lip and groans into Sam's mouth and wants in a way he's never let himself want anything. He wants this down to his marrow.

Sam shoves him back onto the bed, climbs over him, then his hand is in Dean's boxers, stroking his cock. Sam's hand is amazing, huge and callused and he knows how to use it. He shifts and bites at Dean's shoulder, bites his neck, bites his earlobe, his hand never stopping.

"It's you and me," Sam whispers against his ear, his voice rough and low. "You and me forever, Dean."

Dean nods, wants to agree, wants to say, _yes_ , but all he can do is hold on and moan Sam's name. Sam's name is the only word that means anything anymore. He looks up at Sam's face, into Sam's dark eyes, and he's terrified because no one's ever seen him before, not like this, not the way Sam sees him.

He comes hard, crying Sam's name, and then Sam's over him, fucking against his hip, his cock hard, his entire body shaking.

"'S'okay," Dean murmurs, managing to lift one arm and cup the back of Sam's neck. "'S'good, Sammy, come on. Come for me."

Sam's body stills, then jerks, and Dean feels Sam's come hot on the skin of his belly. He murmurs soft words, coaxes Sam through orgasm and its aftershocks, closes his eyes and lets Sam snuggle up to him as they fall asleep.

He's awake half an hour later. He always is--the result of a life spent sneaking out of beds while the other person was still asleep. Sam's out cold, sleeping hard and dreamless. He's probably never crept out of somebody's apartment or dorm room after sex.

The TV's still on--some weird Japanese cartoon with bad dubbing. Kids nowadays don't have any taste. Dean reaches out and brushes his index finger along the line of Sam's cheekbone. Sam's beautiful when he sleeps. He's beautiful a lot of the time. Sometimes he's just Dean's annoying little brother, but sometimes he's breathtaking. Dean knows he's not supposed to have noticed.

Dean's noticed. Sam's hard to ignore. He has a body that goes on forever, legs that don't stop and huge hands with long, slender fingers, a soft pink mouth and slanted fox eyes. Dean's wanted to kiss him before. It's fucked up, but saying that he'd never thought about it before would be a lie. He loves Sam. Sam means more to him than anything in the world. It's probably unhealthy, but he doesn't feel bad about what they've done. He's not freaked out that he just had sex with his brother. It's Sam. He'll give anything for Sam.

It's not what Sam needs, though. Sam needs to let him go. If Dean lets this go on, if he gives in to what he wants, Sam will just have another lover who dies, and he doesn't deserve that.

Dean slides his finger across Sam's mouth. Sam hums softly in his sleep, moves closer to Dean, breathes out a contented sigh. Dean wishes he could freeze time, could stay in that bed forever with Sam asleep and happy in his arms.

He lies there for a while, imagining what it would be like to sleep next to Sam every night. He doesn't let himself think about it for long. It's stupid and self-indulgent and he can't afford to be either. He slips out of bed and pulls on jeans and a black t-shirt. He's silent as he pulls on his boots, then slips out the door in search of coffee. It feels like the middle of the night but it's actually early morning. He gets a cup of really good coffee at the front desk and flirts with the girl working for a while. Then he heads towards the Impala, lounges in the front seat and calls Bobby.

"Do you have any idea what the hell time it is?" Bobby asks groggily.

"What do you know about memory charms?" Dean asks.

"What?"

"Like, say if you wanted somebody to forget something. Something bad. Could you, like, erase part of their life? Take away the bad stuff?"

"You're the most ignorant bastard I've met since your daddy, you know that?" Bobby asks. "You can't erase Sam's life--"

"I didn't say it was for Sam."

"Who the hell else would you be willing to do something so stupid for?"

Dean's silent for a moment. The man has a point. "I want him to have a life, Bobby. I want him to be happy."

"You're a goddamn idiot."

"Can you do it?"

"I thought you said you were willing to accept the consequences of your decision," Bobby says.

"I am, but Sam--"

"Sam's going to suffer when you die. That's one of the consequences."

"Too many people in his life have died, Bobby."

"I know. But do you think for one minute that he'd want to forget you?"

Dean leans forward, rests his head on the steering wheel. He's not going to cry.

"It hurts when people die, Dean. You know that. But would you want somebody messing with your brain and making you forget your daddy? Would you want somebody to take away the memories you have of your mama?"

"No," Dean whispers.

"Then stop being such a stupid prick and thinking you know what's best for Sam. Now, do you have any legitimate questions to ask me about an actual hunt or can I go back to sleep?"

"Go to sleep, Bobby." Dean flips his phone shut and drops his head into his hands. He bites the fleshy part of his palm near the base of his thumb, forces himself to breathe. He's going to be fine. He'll figure something out. He'll find a way to make sure Sam's safe before he goes.

When the first police car pulls up across the street, he slips slowly out of the Impala and makes his way nonchalantly to the motel room door. He watches out of the corner of his eye as the cops start up towards the hiking trail. Nobody seems too interested in the FBI's most wanted staying at the Towne Manor Motel across the way.

He watches the action between a crack in the curtains for over an hour. Three fire engines show up, along with seven cop cars and one ambulance.

"What's going on?" Sam asks groggily.

Dean looks over his shoulder at Sam. He's pushed himself up on his elbows and his chest and shoulders are bare. The sheets are twined around his legs and Dean can see the long lines of muscle in his thigh. "Don’t know. Something big across the way at the Inclined Plane. I'm thinking maybe they found the body of another hiker."

After Sam's cleaned up, they head on over. They don't talk to any of the cops, just mingle with the onlookers. Dean sees the girl he'd been flirting with earlier, the one who works at the motel's front desk. She tells him that they did find another body on the trail but nobody knows who it is.

"Get any information?" Sam asks him with a dark laugh when he wanders back over.

Dean shrugs. He knows its jealousy he hears in Sam's voice but there's nothing he can do about it. He made a mistake the night before. He can't do this thing, can't let Sam get that much more attached to him. "Another body," he says. "I'm guessing the spirits of the guys we salted and burned last night weren't behind this one. We need to find the mine."

"Cops are all over the hiking trail," Sam says, hands in his pockets as he stares up at the Inclined Plane. He's mad but Dean can't do anything about it. He can't be Sam's fucking boyfriend, not when he's just going to die.

"Thought maybe we should head over to Wal-Mart, get the stuff we need then take the rest of the day off. We'll head over to the trail tomorrow bright and early."

Sam frowns but nods. "Fine," he says. "Let's go."

It doesn't take them long to get what they need. Dean's not a fan of shopping, but he kind of wishes it had taken longer. Back in the motel room, Sam's tense. He wants to talk. Dean really, really doesn't want to talk about it so he feigns obliviousness, instead, and watches TV. They've got softcore porn for free-- _Felicity_ , which always gets Dean going. The scene on the boat when Felicity's watching her friend have sex with a guy and another guy comes up behind her and cuts off her panties and just starts fucking her from behind right there? Christ. That scene makes him blow his load every single time.

"Do you fucking mind?" Sam demands.

Dean looks over at him, somewhat glazed. The chick who plays Felicity is seriously hot--dark hair and pale skin and that whole innocent little schoolgirl thing that just twists so good in his gut.

"This is my favorite part," he says, which is kind of a lie because his actual favorite part is when Felicity and her boyfriend screw on the bus, but not really a lie because the whole movie's fantastic. They just don't make softcore porn like they used to.

Sam huffs and stalks into the bathroom and slams the door behind him. Dean sighs and scratches the back of his head and figures maybe he should focus on hunting. It's the only thing he's ever been good at.

He digs in his duffle for a relatively clean shirt and sniffs at his pits. He doesn't smell bad. Maybe he can head over to the bar next door and talk to the locals, see if they've got any legends about the ghosts of the miners, anything that might be useful. Maybe he can hook up with the hot girl at the front desk. It's shitty, he knows it's a shitty thing to do, but if he hooks up with some chick then Sam will understand. It was a mistake. It's never happening again.

Sam comes out of the bathroom in a towel, which is just not fair. His skin is flushed from the heat. He's still damp, the sheen of water highlighting every hard plane of muscle. Sam's body is amazing. No matter how many times Dean's seen him in a towel or his underwear or naked, he's still amazed that his brother--his _little_ brother--is fucking built like that.

Sam looks at Dean and sees right through him, sees his plans of hooking up with the front desk girl or whoever else pretty came along. "Going somewhere?" he sneers.

Dean shrugs, tries to keep playing oblivious. He rattles off some story about making friendly with the locals which Sam doesn't buy for a minute.

"I cannot fucking believe you," Sam growls, stalking forward and trapping Dean between him and the dresser.

"What?"

"I jerked you off last night," he says. "I came all over you. And then this morning? All of today? You act like nothing's changed. You act like it didn't even happen."

"It was a mistake," Dean whispers. Sam presses against him and he can feel the hard line of Sam's cock against his hip. "It was a fluke."

"The hell it was," Sam says, and then he's kissing Dean again. Sam's mouth is hot, his kisses fierce. Dean can't even pretend to resist. He wraps his arms around Sam's bare waist, loses himself in Sam's kiss. It's better than anything else in his life.

Sam walks them over to the bed, shoves Dean back onto the mattress. "Take your clothes off," he growls as he yanks away his towel. His cock is hard and curved and Dean wants to suck it so bad. He wants to be on his knees between Sammy's legs, wants that cock shoved down his throat, Sam's fingers in his hair. He wants to make Sam come apart, lose it, just for him.

"Clothes," Sam says again. His eyes flash dark and uncompromising and Dean spares just a moment to be proud of him. He never knew Sam could be such a bad ass, especially in bed. Dean yanks his clothes off and then Sam's between his legs, his mouth wrapped around the head of Dean's cock.

Dean gasps and tries not to jerk his hips up. Then Sam slides two slick fingers into his ass and he almost loses it. It's the best ever. It's his favorite thing. Sam's swallowing him down and stretching him out. It's all Dean can do to keep from screaming. He grips the pillow and clenches his teeth and tells himself over and over not to come.

Then Sam's mouth is gone, his fingers slide out, and Dean whimpers and opens his eyes. Sam's wearing a feral grin as he rips open a condom wrapper. "Gonna fuck you," he whispers and Dean shudders. Sam smiles at him, leans down to kiss him. "Gonna fuck you so good," he whispers against Dean's mouth.

He feels the tip of Sam's cock against his hole, closes his eyes and tries to relax. It's been years since he's had a cock inside him. Slow, so slow, Sam fills him up. "Mine," Sam whispers in his ear and Dean nods. He wants to cry. He wraps his legs around Sam's waist, pulls him in as deep as he'll go.

"Yeah," he whispers as Sam starts to move. "Yours."

Sam presses their temples together as he thrusts down into Dean over and over again. He kisses Dean's ear, sucks on his throat, bites down on his shoulder and marks him and Dean wants him to bite harder, wants to make sure the mark is there in the morning.

"So fucking hot, Dean," Sam whispers, voice shaky. "So fucking hot like this and it's all for me. Mine. You're mine."

Dean nods and he's going to start crying soon if he doesn't fight it back. There's nothing he can say that will mean anything. _I love you,_ is such a tiny thing compared to what he feels for Sam. He holds on and lets Sam kiss him and hopes that it's enough, hopes that Sam knows how he feels.

Later, in the dark, Dean slips out of bed. He goes into the bathroom and shuts the door behind him without turning on the light. He slides down to the cool tile floor and pulls his knees to his chest and he cries, finally, gritting his teeth to muffle the sound. He can't do it, doesn't know how he's supposed to do it, how he's even supposed to breathe when he's so fucking afraid to die.

Once he's pulled himself together, he splashes water on his face and breathes slow, deep breaths. He goes back to bed and lies next to Sam, lays his hand on Sam's chest and feels his steady breathing. It was worth it. He'll never regret Sam being alive. He lies there until dawn breaks, and then he kisses Sam on the temple, gets up and gets dressed and goes to get coffee.


End file.
